strikethrough
by iigekreuzigt
Summary: And my fingers curl at the thought of these three words rolling around in my mind like a pig happily in mud, because they're not supposed to be there, they're not, but they are. CAM fourshot.
1. in italics

**This is just going to be a quick four-shot to get me writing motivated and lift this horrible lead writer's block off my spine! :O Review, don't review, it probably won't make a whole lot of sense since it's mostly drabble and fluff, but eventually I'm going to slip some secks in here. Yay. Secks.**

So it's probably close to eight in the morning, and I can tell by the way the early autumn fog hasn't risen off the ground yet, and everything feels cold and sticky and...average. And normally I wouldn't be here right now, because it's English class, and eight in the morning, and with _Mrs. Briggs_, but I stayed with Carly last night and she never gives me much choice about stuff like this. Normally I'd be asleep right now, but I'm definitely in the thinking time of the month, which is my least favorite, yes, _absolute_ least favorite, because it always leads to things. Major things. Always.

I think we're talking about, or, otherwise, listening to Miss Briggs talk about subjunctive conjugation of verbs, and I don't know what the hell that is or means, because I haven't been paying attention, obviously. If I was, you wouldn't be reading this right now, because I wouldn't be thinking. And I'm thinking. A lot. I'm sure this will come back to bite me in the butt in a few minutes when she calls on me to knock me out of my trance, but that time's not here yet, so I'll just sit here and think more, because it's all I'm capable for about four days a month. This is day one.

So, what exactly am I thinking about so intently, you ask? Well. While flipping pages in my English book to appear to be into this at all, I came across an interesting tidbit. I never realized how much changing the italics in a sentence can seriously change the meaning. It's pretty cool, in a really Freddie kind of way. Hah. Freddie's an adjective.

I love you.

_I_ love you.

I _love_ you.

I love _you._

And my fingers curl at the thought of these three words rolling around in my mind like a pig happily in mud, because they're not supposed to be there, they're _not_, but they are. They are, and I can't get them out. ...So I lied. Maybe I'm not sitting here thinking about italics, because hell, I'm Sam. People don't usually get in my head like this, but she's there, she's _always_ been there, and she won't go away. Maybe I don't want her to.

She's always been there.

_She's_ always been there.

She's _always_ been there.

She's always _been_ there.

She's always been..._there._


	2. in bold

**Bold**, that's the word for it.

I couldn't believe the balls I suddenly grew until it was over, and I had gone and done it. I mean, sure, I can snap a few words or land a punch, anyone can. Bruises hurt for a little bit, but after turning all colors and looking really gross, they go away. The byproduct of something like this? It never goes away, it's something you either remember as "This is the moment I really screwed up." or "This is the moment I really scored." And I haven't really gotten to the point of being able to say either of these, I know this from straight-up experience, because I'm dragging my lips across her cheek, something I can't take back, and she's just sitting there and _letting _me. She's letting me. I wish I could just read her mind right now, that would answer a lot of questions I have, but my brain is so fried from nerves and anticipation and arousal and _fear_ that I just don't think I'll be using any of my crazy voodoo powers tonight. Not tonight, at least.

Suddenly, I feel the softest breath on my lips, and I shudder as I realize mine were touching hers, and I can hear her take in some kind of shaky breath that makes me feel the bumblebees fluttering their sick little wings against my insides. I pull back what was more like millimeters but spoke for miles, so they wouldn't sting me.

"We're best friends, Carls," I state obviously against her lips, still having not gotten any kind of reaction or movement or _anything_ yet, but I can't decide if that worries me or tells me she's cool with this. "Does that make this okay?" and I add in that question because I _need _some kind of reaction, before noticing that I can't even answer that question.

It seems like a zillion years before she finally whispers, "I don't know," and that's all she says. Like she's leaving this as some kind of open-ended situation that I can take and bend however I want, because she's handing control over to me. If I walk away now, this won't go away. If we go through with this, things will fucking _change._ Yeah, this is worse than a bruise. Especially considering _I don't know what to do right now. _Almost in defeat, I finally open my eyes I had squeezed shut long ago, meeting hers. I mean, I've always been able to read her like a book; she's one hell of an obvious person sometimes, but this is just the one time I need to, that I can't. Her whole face is all stoic and emotionless, and I can't decide if she's trying to distance herself or just wants this to stop.

And then the look on her face changes, it softens, and I can see some kind of light in her eyes that I haven't before, when she says "Sam?" like my name's a question, like this is all a question, like my arms giving out from shaking and holding myself above her and crashing down on her, finally _kissing_ her is a question. Then she answers them all, pouring back everything I was showing her I felt tonight through this absolutely _burning _kiss. And even though it should, it doesn't feel wrong. It just doesn't. Because I'm sure this is because, **She's always **_**been**_** there.**

In retrospect, if there's anything I learned from this night, it's that everything is always way awesome before it all goes to hell. And if they took this night and made it into some Six Flags rollercoaster, I don't think many people would survive riding it, as cheesy as that metaphor is.

I don't realize anything really shitty's happened until I hear screaming and doors slamming, and when the two of us snap back up from our horizontal positions on the beanbag, one glance between us is all we need to know it's Spencer, and we both know that we've got some hella explaining to do, even if neither of us really can.

"Carl--"

"Look, I'll go talk to him," she rattles, nervously running her hand through her hair about six times a second, "He's my brother and you're just Sam and you're not some icky boy and it's not like you could get me pregnant or anything and he's got to trust you because you're just Sam, I mean this was all just some stupid...fling, anyway, so, it's not like it's going to happen again and...I'll just go talk to him now," Carly tries to make a break for it before I grab her by the wrist and yank her back down to sit by me, and I don't say anything yet. I just stare at her like I had moments before I lost my cool and started kissing her, and I can see her instantly chill out.

"Is that all that was to you?" I ask her, visibly wincing because what she said wasn't a bruise either, just like this whole night. That was gonna haunt me, for a while. And I can see the gears in her brain really start to move, she's finally starting to see that--

"We can't screw this up, Sam. We've come too far to..." her voice falters a little as a tear slips its way out of her eye, and that hurts too, because she's cried in front of me before, but it's never been my fault.

"...To what?" I end up questioning, even though I don't really want to know the answer. Carly bites her lip before sighing heavily, taking my hand in hers, and that almost hurts.

"Sam," she breathes, "People meet each other. They hang out, they get to know each other. Sometimes they fall in love, they go out, and then they see each other's flaws and it's not good anymore. And then they start fighting at it all goes to pieces, and..." She's not holding back the tears anymore, but she's squeezing my hand like she can't let me go. "...and they break up, and go their separate ways, and sometimes they hate each other or never see each other again." Her eyes lift back up to mine, and I can finally read love there. But it's not the kind of love I want to see. "I can't have that with you."

I'd love to think by "that" she meant losing me, but I knew she meant "that" as in "us". That hurt the most.

And now I'm being real **bold**, because I'm letting her hand go and I'm leaving the way I came, because nobody sees Sam hurt, nobody sees Sam cry, and no one ever sees Sam defeated. Not even Carly. I bypass Spencer on the way out, eating aspirin like it's candy and looking absolutely numb as he stares into space from the shock of what he just walked in on a minute ago. I don't think he even saw me leave. I snarl to myself and also to him because it's all his fault. It is. It has to be. He ruined the moment, he ruined it all.

I'd love to think that she did what she did out of love, but I knew she just _had_ to find some way of letting me down easy, of sugar-coating what she really meant to say.

_I love you, Sam, but not like you need to be loved._


	3. underlined

**This doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but I just got back from 11 hours in a car on a highway, doing nothing but watching trees go by and thinking about wtf i'm going to do with this. XD hopefully it's going to stay a fourshot, because i'm beginning to like this for some reason. :|**

**oh yeah, and I also felt kind of mean not updating after two days, but i'm sure that sounds ridiculous to some people. Bahahah. Either way, attempt to enjoy while I figure out how i'm going to make this live up to its M rating, if at all. xD**

I'm beginning to think there's some underlying cause to this.

Because now it's _her_ turn to mess with _my_ head; one minute I was sitting here with a bucket of fried chicken, soothing my aching heart if you wanna get all sappy, watching the static fuzz on the television. The next? There's some beautiful girl perched over top of me, and my chicken is all over the carpet. I'm about to yell at her for that, before I realize, oh hell, it's _Carly_, and before I can say or ask anything, her lips are all over mine again, and it's almost like coming home after not being there in days. It's the only place you want to be, and it seems so far away, but now it's right here in the last place I really want to be, because I hate my house; it's all full of empty Jack Daniels bottles and the smell of alcohol and sweat and drugs and dirt. Carly's like some tiny piece of heaven right now, surrounded by all this madness and un-home and _guilt_ that fills the place.

And I'm enjoying this, oh hell, am I _ever_ enjoying this, before I feel all too soft hands at the base of my stomach, and I wrench away from her completely, like I don't know her and she's something foreign and horrible and wrong. That's the way it's supposed to be, right?

Carly's face that's supposed to be so perfect looks disheveled and hurt, and her eyes are so bloodshot, and that hair I love to play with is all over the place (I don't think I did that), like she didn't even try to wake up this morning. Like she almost fits in with her surroundings. We sit in silence for a few moments, catching our much-needed breaths and trying to read each other's faces, like it's going to work any better than it did a few days ago.

"What are you doing?" I ask her confusedly, not really sure if I was asking a simple question or something that ran much deeper. She finger-combs her hair nervously.

"You...haven't been in school for two days," she states, avoiding what I was really asking, as if it's anything out of the ordinary, and almost as if I didn't know it myself. I chuckle darkly.

"Did you expect me to be?" comes from my mouth before I can really stop it, and I cringe inwardly at how cold that sounded. I could almost see Carly mentally flinch at that blow, staring at me for a little while like she's gathering her thoughts together and slowly piecing them together before she dares to speak. She sighs before taking a big breath, and I prepare myself for what sounds like it might be another cannon blast to that brick wall that separates my feelings from the rest of the world, or a really long rambling.

"Look, Sam," Shit, I didn't like how that started. "I know I hurt you, okay? And I'm sorry, I really am." _But..._ "But, I've been thinking a lot lately," Really? You too? "And..." My heart jumps like some frog leaping for a lily pad that's way out in the middle of a lake, hoping for something that probably won't happen. But we can all dream, right? "I think..." Said heart suddenly takes a totally different turn when it starts _beating_, really _**beating**_ for the first time in a while, because Carly's leaning in a little too close for comfort, to the point where her semi-heavy breathing tickles my ear. "...I want to love you."

And now that heart can't decide whether it wants to just pause for a little bit and cease its fast-tempoed beating, or explode like some really damn colorful fireworks. Or maybe both.

Likewise, I don't even know what to say.

So, I stupidly say, "Why?" because it's the only coherent thought I can think right now. Carly pulls back far enough that I can see her chuckle kind of cutely, because we both know that was a stupid reaction to a declaration of almost-love.

"I don't know," she starts, and I feel glad that we're both at the same point in this. "I guess maybe because yeah, you're just Sam, and...you've always been there, like, _been_ there, and you're not some icky boy, and...I just trust you, and...does that make any sense at all?" I grin, because it does, it really does, and it's everything I've felt since that fucking day in English earlier this week, so I nod fervently. She smiles like she knew I'd understand; she probably did.

"So...what does this mean?" I whisper like I don't really want to know, when I really do, because I'm an impatient person and I just _can't _take things like this slow. "Like...are we an us?" Carly half-smiles at the question, because it just sounds funny. Then she shrugs.

"Won't that...complicate things? I mean, you know what I told you, I can't have that with you..." I have to shut her up, because she just stabbed me in the chest by resurrecting those words that hurt me the most.

"No way Carls, that's not going to happen, and you know it," I whisper as comfortingly as I could, moving to diminish those couple inches between us. "We can only get stronger, you know," I promise with a smile, that takes her a few seconds before she returns, and while it might look a little weak, and almost forced, it's a start. It's a start of a lot of things.

"I hope so," Carly says almost inaudibly, like I wasn't supposed to hear that, as she rests her head on my shoulder, eyes fixed on the static television like it's actually interesting. It's a few minutes of sitting there just feeling the safety of each other before she speaks again, "Hey Sam, can I bunk here for the night?" And while my hormones are screaming _Hell yes!_ at me, the Sam part of me knows that protecting Carly is more important than anything else. And judging by the fact that it's a Wednesday, there's actually a possibility of my mom coming home tonight, and a chance that she'll come home a raging drunk, and probably an even bigger chance that she'll come home a raging drunk with another male raging drunk by her side. And I can't take chances, not ever, and especially not now.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," I tell her as warmly as I can, but I see her recoil a little like she just got hit. Fuck. "No, Carls, no, it's not that I don't want you to, it's just..." and then she starts breaking a little, and a little more, until finally she reaches her capacity and tears just start spilling over, trickling down her cheeks faster than I can wipe them away. So instead, I pull her into a tight hug and let her just soak my shirt, wondering what I said that hurt her this bad.

"I'm sorry," Carly whimpers, as if she really should be, sniffling and wiping away what remains of her tears as I wait for her to explain. "I don't really have anywhere else to go...I've been trying to make Spencer understand for days now, he just..." A second wave of tears threaten to pour out, and I do my best to rub her back comfortingly, seemingly working. "...He just wants me to be so perfect, you know? Everyone does. They just want me to be so perfect, like I'm some kind of...fucking _doll_...I think they forget I have feelings sometimes." I wish I could imagine what that felt like, so I could help her, but I could definitely see where perfect little Carly Shay skipping through the door and announcing to her big brother that she's in love with her best friend could cause some issues.

"So what you're trying to say is, if I had a penis, there wouldn't be a problem?" I ask jokingly with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"I think there would be _more_ problems if you did," Carly giggles, snuggling back up closer to me, and I decide she can stay for tonight, but I don't tell her about what might happen should my mom come home, because I can't bring myself to disturb this moment of peace, because I know it's about to all get shot to hell; things are starting to happen that way. And maybe there's an underlying cause; maybe some Greater Being is trying to throw me off this ride.

--

"Oh my God, Sam, put that down!"

"Ten minute rule!"

–

**That last part had no real point to it, lmfao. **


	4. strikethrough i

**I lied; this is gonna be a five-shot if there is such a thing, because I'm going on a spontaneous vacation and can't not update. So here's the first half. :|**

I'm beginning to think the whole world wants me to put those three words in strikethrough.

And it was the last thing in the world I was thinking about, accidentally falling asleep absolutely _wrapped_ around Carly, because that's what she wanted. I have no clue how early it is; the dirty blinds covering the few windows in this apartment aren't letting a single bit of light through. I feel Carly stir against my chest where she's curled up because I guess I moved too much, and then she's awake and looking up at me and smiling with love twinkling in her eyes like some kind of fucking angel. I smile back before I realize we fell asleep on the couch, too comfy to move apparently, as I had planned to move to some other room in this house, just in case my mother or mother and male friend came home equally drunk and tried to find us to do God-knows-what to us both.

As if on cue, someone kicks the door in, staggering inside and grumbling nonsense words, hanging on every nearby stable object. Hair unkempt, eyes baggy, and swaying back and forth seemingly uncontrollably, in waddled my mother, obviously drunk and very well aware of it. Her half-seeing eyes lock into me like wary little magnets, and she puts her rant on pause. Carly clutches at my shirt in fear, because I didn't tell her this part about living here, and she's visibly scared as hell.

"Michelle!" my mother bursts out, suddenly in a confused rage, "Get over here, you..." She took one shaky step towards us both, and my entire body instantly tensed, ready to fight and or kill if it meant risking Carly. "Come get what you deserve, you little slut..." My typical Sam instincts told me to lash out at the bitch with that comment, but when she went to grab for Carly, I decided we need to get out of here. Untangling myself from her, I grabbed Carly by the wrist and dashed with her out the door that was left open. I heard her drunken, screaming babbles all the way down the hall and the three flights of stairs, only getting relief when we were into the streets.

Met with cold early-morning autumn air, we both shivered, not even close to being dressed for the weather. Nevertheless, groups of people walked past us sight unseen, like two shivering girls clinging to each other, in pajamas, this early in the morning was an everyday thing.

Then Carly turns to me, looking a little annoyed.

"So, what was _that_ all about?" she interrogates me, and I turn my gaze to where I'm embarrassedly kicking a beer bottle cap around with the toe of one of my ratty old Converses. No one's supposed to see this side of me.

"That...was kinda my mom," I reply, the 'kinda' meaning more than I could ever explain to her. Glancing up briefly, I see her eyes softening in realization.

"Sam..." Carly starts, suddenly sympathetic because she didn't know, I _know _she didn't know, but I step back anyway to avoid her outreaching hand from doing whatever healing shoulder-touch she was about to attempt that wouldn't work anyway. Because nothing could fix this; hell knows I tried, but it started long before I was born and it's just a lost cause.

"It's okay, Carly. Don't bother, you'll just say what everyone else has," Meeting her eyes, I can feel some wall break down that's been up there since the incident that gave me the deep scar across my ribs, like I don't have to be afraid anymore. All the defense I ever need is right here, grabbing my hand now and leading me down the familiar streets to the Bushwell Plaza, before I can even say anything more. Then she's leading me up the stairs and just outside her door, where she finally says something.

"Spencer's probably right inside on the couch, okay? So_ please_, for the love of God, Sam, _don't_ wake him up. I don't know what he'll..." I saw the imminent breakdown in her eyes, so I snatched her up into a hug before she could finish that sentence. After calming down a little, she pulled back with a sniffle or two. "...Sam, I don't think we're safe here either," she chokes out, and for one more time in my life, I feel absolutely hopeless and lost. But then with a smile, I remember the love this girl in front of me is pouring out right now, and I don't feel that way so much anymore. Seeing her look equally hopeless and lost, I lace my fingers with hers.

"Remember what I said, okay, Carls? We can only get stronger." She finally returns my smile. "And you know, I'll protect you. No matter what," I promise her, tracing her cheek with my hand, causing her to blush slightly. "Now come on, cupcake, let's get through this. Okay?" Carly nods, opening the door as slowly as she possibly can, just far enough for us both to slip through, and we do.

Just as she had expected, Spencer was sprawled out on the couch, television still flashing colors across his sleeping form, with a number of glass bottles strewn across the floor and coffee table, as we both lose the breath in our lungs. If either of us knew he drank at all, it was never anything like this. I can see the blame and guilt build up in Carly's eyes at the sight of him like this, so I run my hand up and down her arm in a horrible attempt to comfort her, but she just sighs defeatedly, continuing her way up the stairs and into the iCarly studio, where she proceeded to throw me onto a beanbag with shocking force. The look on her face absolutely gave me chills, up and down my spine and across my skin like spiders and everywhere else. She walks back momentarily to shut the door before returning her chilling gaze to me.

"Carls..." I start. Not saying a word, she lowers herself over me, faces barely inches apart.

"Sam," she states simply, tracing my face lightly with her thumb, setting my nerves on fire in the short instant. As much as I liked the current position, I was confused by her sudden change in actions. "You gotta be quiet, okay?" Carly whispers, her breath hitting my lips and causing me to swallow nervously. Something's not right here.

"Carls..." I try again, only to be cut off by her kissing me roughly. Alarms and red flags and bells and whistles and loud shit immediately all went off in my head at the same time, and I try desperately to squirm from her or break away. She only responds by slamming my wrists above my head in a tight hold that I had no idea Carly could even muster. Feeling absolutely trapped, natural Sam reacted the way natural Sam does, and with a burst of adrenaline, managed to throw her off me a little harder than I meant to. Both of us breathing hard for similar reasons, I took this as my one chance. "Are you going to let me have any say in this?" I hiss at her, probably a little too loudly, but the look on her face meant I got the point through, and she nodded. "So then, what's up, Carls? What are you doing this for?" Her eyes spoke volumes as she raised her eyes to mine.

"This is the only chance we have," she said simply. "The whole world's out to get us, Sam, we can't keep running like this. It's too much for both of us, and you know that." Her words made me sigh, because I _did _know that. "What's stopping us?"

"It's too early. You just declared your love for me less than twenty-four hours ago." I said bluntly, not moving in my decision. This can't happen, not tonight.

"So?" Carly scoffs, "Time is just a stupid made-up thing anyway. I mean, you said it yourself, twice, _We can only get stronger_...so what do we have to lose?" Only everything, Carly. _Everything. _"We both know we love each other..." And I cringe at this, because no, we don't.

I tell her so, and I see her wince at yet another blunt statement from me.

"I can't...I can't just _say _that Sam, I just can't."

"Then you're not ready."

She sighs frustratedly.

"Look. I don't know how much time we even have left, but I do know Spencer will be waking up with one hell of a hangover in a couple hours. We're in a_ basically_ sound-proof room."

"Carly. I don't care if we're in the middle of the street, I'm not doing anything until you love me enough to tell me so. Don't show me, tell me."

"Sam..."

I groan because this argument is doing nothing but going in circles.

"If you want this bad enough, you'll prove that you love me the _right _way."

All of a sudden, her eyes sparkle with determination and commitment and strength and, finally, love, the kind I had always wanted to see. Then she pounces on me and I land back on the beanbag with a whoosh, arching one eyebrow to just _dare_ her to try anything. And she does, she lowers her face as physically close to mine as possible, eyes boring holes into mine, every muscle in my body straining against hers in a half-attempt to get her off me, when Carly says it, at long fucking last.

She whispers "I love you, Sam," so lightly against my lips that the chills come back, that it almost sounded effortless when I knew it was_ so_ the opposite, and I immediately crush myself against her in an ever-so-grateful kiss. So her real love declaration wasn't exactly fireworks-inducing, or world-shattering, but it meant everything to me, because it was everything she had to give me. Because I knew how hard it was for her to say that. Because I knew what she had gone through over those three stupid words, and I promised her it wouldn't happen again. I have to protect her.

Part of me wondered how much longer I had until this all got shot to hell like everything else.


	5. strikethrough ii

Part of me wondered how much longer I had until this all got shot to hell like everything else.

I milk this moment for all it's got, because I know it's _all _I've got right now. I've got this brief moment of complete and utter peace and ecstasy of knowing Carly loves me back, and she's finally said it, and now she's taking back her control over this situation with the hottest, most heavenly slide of lips and tongue. And by the time that slide's moved down past my jaw and onto my neck, I'm so high up in space that I have to bite my lip to keep from muttering out a number of obscenities. Carly's highly amused by this; I can tell when I feel her lips curl into a smile against the sensitive skin of my collarbone.

The next thing I feel is the soft pads of her fingers skimming the bottom of my stomach, and she leaves her sweet torture on my skin for the half a moment it takes to lift my shirt over my head. I take this chance to do the same to hers, and my breath immediately hitches at the view I have right now. Maybe it was my imagination, but it almost looked like she was feeling the same, the way her dark eyes fly over my newly-exposed skin.

"Sam, you're--" A single finger of mine shoots up to her lips to quiet her before she said what I knew she was about to.

"No, I'm not." I whisper simply as my finger drops. A crease appears between Carly's eyebrows as she questioned my statement.

"What are you..." she trails as my head drops, and hers does the same. Her words stop on a dime as she stares breathlessly at my not-so-perfect skin. Covered in old burns and bruises and scars that were uncovered, now that there was no shirt to hide them. My last wall came crumbling down as I let Carly blast her way through, because no one's ever seen this part of me. But she doesn't say anything, her face doesn't change, and she doesn't ask questions. Her eyebrow crease just disappears as she trails her fingers across the marks on my stomach.

She doesn't even say anything when she touches the deepest scar that spans across the whole left side of my ribcage, but I see her lose a little breath from her lungs, and her eyes beg the question,

"How?" I take a deep breath when that word slipped out. Carly heard. "God...I'm sorry Sam, I shouldn't have..."

"No...no, it's okay, Carls, you _should_ know." I meet her eyes as I swallow bravely, "Remember my mom's boyfriend Ian from a few years ago?" She nodded, looking absolutely horrified, and not needing or wanting to know any more. Carly just pulls me into the most meaningful hug of my life, and I feel her nails dig in to the battered skin of my back as if I'll just dissolve if she doesn't hold me together. After her shock subsides, we split apart and Carly's immediately looking in my eyes, so lovingly that I swear I can see her pupils turn into little hearts. That makes me smile, because _no one_'s ever looked at me like that before. No one's loved me like this before...hell, no one's ever_ loved_ me at all. And for the first time in my life, I feel totally and completely defenseless. Defenseless, but not helpless, and it's the good kind of defenseless, because now I have someone to be that brick wall.

Then her hand is tracing my cheek as she swears, she _swears_, "I'll never hurt you."

"I believe you," I whisper, leaning back in to prove it. And it's mere moments before I'm taking that to the next level, gripping blindly at the button on her jeans before I feel her hands stopping mine. Carly pulls back just long enough to mutter,

"Sam...I've never..." I hushed her quickly with my lips.

"Shh...don't worry, cupcake, I haven't either." Browns flick to my blues, still obviously worried. "It's just us." Her worry visibly softens, and so does her white-knuckled grip on my hands until it's gone, and she lets me attempt to slide her jeans down her legs. And damn it, this is the _one time _I'm really hating the fact that Carly's jeans are always this tight. I hardly hear her whisper of a chuckle at my desperation to get them off, and she helps me peel the denim from her body. My hands are immediately memorizing this uncharted skin, dancing over should-be illegally soft thighs before she flinches. She flinches and I feel every muscle in her body tense up probably painfully and lay her palms strongly on my shoulders like she_ wants_ to push me away but _needs_ to go through with this, like one half of her is fighting the other. I sigh heavily and remove my hands, backing away from her a good foot or two. Carly instantly scoots closer, eyes cast guiltily in her lap.

"I'm sorry, Sam, it's just, I...he..."

"We shouldn't do this," I state way too bluntly for the current situation.

"We _have_ to," Carly croaks frustratedly. "This is our last chance and you know it!" I sigh again for emphasis, because, yeah, I _did_ know it.

"Carls..." I groaned, but then she arches one fucking eyebrow and I crumble. "Look, if I can't even...why do you want this so bad?"

"I love you," she whispers with a convincing smile, "I trust you."

"There's more to it than that," I know there is. It's a few seconds where Carly dares challenge me with an emotionless expression before she cracks.

"I want to forget," she whispers almost inaudibly, "I want to_ so_ bad, Sam, and you're the only one I trust like this." I give her this hopeful little smile, because it's all I really have to offer her, after months of drying her tears and holding back her hair while she blew chunks, of hugs every time she saw me and making her soup on the worst days. And for _me_ to make _someone else_ food? You know I gotta love them.

And just like that, we're back where we left off two days ago, but a whole lot more naked and there's no sirens or red flags. Just Carly shoving me back onto the beanbag, straddling my hips before she moves in to bite the base of my neck like some kind of vampire, or rabid animal or something. The jolt that this sends right to the lower parts of my abdomen make it absolutely impossible to hold back the needy whine that slips out of my throat, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"Someone likes it rough," I hear her mutter without leaving my neck, and for a second I'm almost shocked that sweet little Carly Shay would say something like that...until I realize I should probably be more shocked that sweet little Carly Shay is ravaging her best friend on a beanbag while being damn near naked. "Unfair..." is the next thing I hear as I feel her tugging at my zipper and slipping my jeans off as fast as she could manage.

A moment later I'm feeling wet heat on my left thigh as she makes herself _real _comfy there.

Then she rocks her hips, grinding her own thigh right where I think it was made to go right about now.

Next she's choking on her own breath and gasping, and suddenly those hips have a mind of their own.

Her arms are suddenly on either side of my head, barely holding herself up as they shake and tremble like they're about to give out any second, and...when did it get so hot in here?

I watch Carly forget about him, I listen to her ragged breath and smile because she's so lost right now that she's totally forgotten about getting _me_ off, but I'm cool with that right now, knowing that no one's made her feel like that before.

And I feel so accomplished when she bites her lip like that and whispers that she loves me a third time, that I think I might just be high. I can't hold back my pure, unbridled_ happiness_ when she kisses me with this much meaning, as her whole body tightens up in a totally different way than before, as she sighs into my mouth and collapses onto my chest and it's all over.

It's_ really_ all over, when I look in the doorway and see Spencer standing there staring daggers in our direction with arms crossed, and I don't know how long he's been there or how much he saw, but _God_, I really should have expected this. It's starting to be a trend around here.

"Carly," he calls out hella mad like I've never heard him talk before, and Carly jumps at the sound of his voice like she didn't expect this either, and leaps off me to stare at him like a deer in headlights and not like his little sister he just caught doing what she was doing. "Get some clothes on and come out here, _we need to have a little talk._" My stomach just ties itself in a knot the way he says that. She flashes me the most hopeless, guilty, sorry,_ heartbreaking _eyes, and I make it my immediate goal to get that picture out of my head as soon as it's there. Nonetheless, she slips her shirt and jeans on and wordlessly follows Spencer out the studio door.

A second hasn't even passed before I hear the screaming and the yelling and the accusations, and then I hear the worst "I love her!", and that hits me just like a brick to the gut. Because it all comes down in one crashing realization that all of this is my fault.

Carly's heartbroken and Spencer's so mad and..._different,_ and we're always on the run, we can't be _normal_ anymore, and god damn it, nothing good has even come of this.

And all of these constant interruptions must have been a sign; I wish I figured that out a long time ago.

So I jump back into my clothes and head for the elevator, stopping to take one last glance at the madness I've created. Spencer red-faced and mad as hell, Carly looking like absolute _death_ with tears streaming down her face that was so, so beautiful just minutes ago. And letting out a shaky sigh and leaving the only person I've really ever cared about is all I can do, because no one sees Sam hurt, no one sees Sam defeated, and_ no one _sees Sam cry.

I leave her a post-it with a few words scribbled out in the first place she'll look, on the beanbag where I was just sitting, and I leave. And I know this is the last time I'm going to walk out on her, because she loved me and trusted me but in the end, it just wasn't worth it to ruin her life over someone like me, and when she finds me gone she'll probably just shrivel up and cease to exist, like she used to say she would do if I ever went poof.

By the time I'm into the streets surrounding the Bushwell Plaza, I'm running. I'm running through the cold and the snow and my lungs don't really want to function, but that's okay. I won't make them.

Because I'm beginning to think the whole world wants me to put those three words in strikethrough, and although it was the last thing I ever wanted to do, I'm more trouble than I'm worth.

**So after many nights of potentially lethal doses of diet pepsi, animal crackers, and malcom in the middle (yes, this is the recipe for most anything I write xD) and one of staying up past 2am on a school night because OMG I HAD IDEAS, I managed to spit this out. :D**

**i'd like to stop and thank silversun pickups for making the song PANIC SWITCH, which really inspired this whole thing, in a very indirect way. o.0 along with anyone who gave a review 3 those really are cool, and force me to keep writing when I don't feel like it.**

**Anyway.**

**THERE IS A SEQUEL COMING ZOMG. Because while I like to stick to my this-is-a-fiveshot-to-get-over-my-writer's-block theory, I still like this for some reason. o.0**

**Look out for a cam titled "Driven Under"...coming soon. I promise. :3**


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